I sang on worship team today. On the mornings I sing, mom always comes up and helps Dave with the kids. This morning was no different except that she had hair issues and was six minutes late. Dave, saw her coming up the driveway and decided to teach her a lesson in punctuality. So he yelled long and loud. She froze and then bounded up the stairs like a rabbit, three at a time! To her dismay she found Dave collapsed on the stairs, in hysterics. He's naughty, but there it is. She is somehow always on hand to help at any crisis. Always with her arms out, hands open, willing.
-I know, because I live next door to her, that she is constantly praying and fasting for her four children and ten grandchildren.
-I know that she's had a life of formidable disappointments but that her faith in Christ is steadfast.
-I know that her generous nature sometimes gets her in trouble (when she gave the beggar a handful of Chuck E Cheese tokens by accident).
-I know that she thinks nothing of throwing others out of dangers way and taking the brunt herself.
-I know she likes to think that she's Jewish because they dance and light candles alot.
-I know that she collects things at an alarming rate (we may have to add on to her house to accommodate this new silver fetish (thank you Aunt Karen)).
-What I don't know is why in the world I was so blessed to be born to such a woman.
I recently finished the book The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James. I loved it. I loved the long words, the sweep of European loveliness, the rustle of century old traditions and values, but most of all I loved Isabel Archer the heroine. I loved her because she was "a spirit set apart" which is the same trait I love in my mother. My mother, through Christ, is truly the heroine of her story. I am so grateful to be in the same book.
Thank you God for Mom!